With Love from Russia
by vala-anna
Summary: The president of the United States is assassinated and the CSI team is asked to go to Washington to solve the little problem. Completed. R
1. Chapter 1

**NB: To all people who are reading this, no offense was meant to any Russian people and I really do not think that they are how I describe the Mafia in this story; it is just how the characters are in the story so if you are offended, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. **

_**With love from Russia**_

**Chapter 1**

Today is the Fourth of July. It is also America's Day of Independence. It is a sizzling day in Washington DC, the sun was out and not a gust of wind disturbed the thirsty trees outside the convention centre in Washington where the President of the United States is due to make a speech. People waving little paper Stars and Stripes are already lined up and down the roads waiting for the flashy limousine followed by police bikes to come. The children and other vertically challenged adults are already jumping up and down excitedly, trying to see past their taller counterparts.

Standing at the very edge (behind the wall obviously) on the top level of the bank opposite the convention centre, there was a well dressed man. A very well dressed man indeed. He was wearing a designer tux, designer trousers, a designer shirt, and not to mention the designer _bow-tie_, yes, a _bow-tie._ One might wonder where he got such a thing, but if you asked, he'd just smile at you coldly and tell you to piss the hell off which brings me to my point that he was not a very pleasant man at all. So he was standing there in his designer bow-tie with a big black bag at his feet watching the crowd intently from behind his reflective sunglasses. What a perfect day for this, he thought blissfully and took out his cell phone. He dialed a number and spoke.

"He's here," he said.

Then he sits down on his bottom and waited.

Down below, the sweating crowds just got rowdier because they could hear the police sirens coming closer. They couldn't see the limo yet but they cheered louder anyway. Then, slowly, pushing through the crowds, came the black limousine. It got to the entrance of the centre and out jumped the president. No, he didn't really do that, he got out nicely, all dignified, smiling and waving at the crowd of mad people who were still cheering him on. He got out, walked a couple of steps toward the entrance……..and suddenly dropped onto the ground. There was silence, then confusion, then one person at the front screamed and the whole crowd started to scream even though they had no idea what happened or what was going on. But the girl who screamed did and knew for sure when she saw the red blood seeping out from the various holes in the presidents body, that the President of the United States is dead.

Up above the now screaming crowd, the nasty man packed away his sniper rifle into the big, black bag. He stood up feeling satisfied and took out his phone again.

"It is done," was all he said before he hung up and made his way down the building in a rather unusual way. He abseiled down the side of the building into a dark alley way and landed just before a black van. He slid open the door, climbed in and soon the black van disappeared.

* * *

_Brrrrrrr brrrrrrr, brrrrrrr brrrrrrr._

"This is CSI Las Vegas, how may we help you?"

"We are looking for a Gil Grissom, please."

"Alright, I'll put you through."

"Hello."

"Are you Gil Grissom?"

"Why, indeed, I am. And you are?"

"The FBI, calling from Washington on behalf of us and the CIA."

Silence.

"The president has just been assassinated and we need you and your team to come up here and take a look at the body."

"Why can't you do that yourself?"

"We are understaffed at the moment."

"Ah, I know how that feels."

"We will be expecting you at our headquarters at 0200 hours this afternoon. Goodbye, Mr. Grissom."

That leaves us no choice, thought Gris to himself as he walked out his office.

"Alright folks! I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?"

"The bad," said Sara, still reading her book.

"The president of the United States has been assassinated today," Grissom said grimly.

Everyone in the lab stopped what they were doing and looked at him in shock.

"What about the good news?" asked Nick, still staring at Grissom.

"Yeah, about that, we're going to Washington today to help the FBI and the CIA because they are_ understaffed_."

"_Understaffed!_ And now they come looking at us for help. What have they ever done for us?" agitated Nick.

"Hey look at it this way, Nick, this is your one and only chance to see the President naked and lying in a morgue," joked Warrick.

Nick looked as if he wanted to puke. "Now why would I want to see a thing like that?"

"'Coz – "

"Hey, guys. Did I miss something?" inquired Greg curiously as he came into the room.

"Yeah, you sure did," said Catherine, still looking quite shocked, "we're going to Washington."

* * *

"Where _are_ we staying, Gil?" complained Sara miserably. Seven people were squashed into a hot, stuffy cab and all of them were feeling rather dismal.

"It should be right around the corner. It's the Hotel Sierra," said Grissom shortly, "It's about a block away from FBI head quarters."

Nick muttered something incomprehensible at the word "FBI".

"What?" Warrick said irritably.

"Nothing."

"Well, then, quit muttering."

The cab stopped in front of the lavishly designed hotel entrance and the driver hurriedly kicked them out his car before an argument could ensue.

"Thank you!" yelled Doc. Robbins to the back of the cab. He was the only cheerful member of the team left as he had slept all the way from the airport to the hotel.

The group walked through the polished glass doors and into the hotel and everyone sighed in relief as the air-con washed over their hot bodies. They all instantly cheered up and went to check-in at the polished wooden table. The women stayed one room while the five men shared another bigger room which would still make them pretty squashed.

"Right, we'll meet down here at half past one to walk to the head quarters," announced Grissom.

They breezed off happily to their rooms.

* * *

"You have done well, Vladimir."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now I need you to enter the CSI team as an intern and sabotage their investigation. Destroy all the evidence they have gathered that would incriminate us. Go."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"Yes……at this time of the year?...alright, send him over for his first case……Vladimir? Is he Russian? OK, bye."

Grissom snapped his Motorola V3 Razr shut and hurried towards the pleasant, sunny lobby to meet with the others.

"Hey, there's a new intern that will be working with us for this case. He's arriving at the airport now and I need one of you to go over and fetch him. His name is Vladimir, by the way, so if you don't mind Russians……"

"Yeah, hey, I'll go," volunteered Nick immediately, "it beats going to the FBI head quarters at this time of day."

"You sure man? There'll be air-con, coffee, FBI agents and of course, the naked, dead president," said Warrick persuasively.

"Nah, not my cup o' tea, thanks."

"You shouldn't be joking about the president, Warrick," said Catherine reproachfully, "it's not good for your health."

"Hey, what was that supposed to mean? I…"

Nick grinned at them and walked off to get a cab.

* * *

Sara, Grissom, Catherine and Warrick arrived at the crime scene after being briefed on the case by a grim, hurried, expressionless and frankly boring CIA agent.

"So, he was going to make a speech here today," said Sara, glancing down at the president's body sadly, "he was a lovely man."

Grissom raised his eyebrows at Sara and she blushed.

"I meant he was a good president, that's all."

Gris smiled. "Right, let's start this process and find all the evidence we can."

Meanwhile, at the airport, Nick met Vladimir for the first time. His first impression of the man was not a very good one. His face looks sour and he is too impeccably dressed, thought Nick. And, yes, indeed, he was. His platinum blonde hair was gelled up into fashionable spikes, his teeth were unusually white and pointy and he looked unbothered by all the heat and the activity around him. Nick put on a smile and went to receive this weird Russian man warmly.

"Hello, are you Vladimir?"

"Yes," he said with a hint, just a hint, of coldness.

"Right, well, I'm Nick, and your first case is pretty exciting – "

"Yes, we are investigating the death of your president. I was briefed already," said Vladimir with a suggestion of snobbishness.

"Alright," said Nick who could already see that they were not gonna be friends.

Great, now I'm stuck with an arrogant pussy from Russia, thought Nick ill-fatedly, just my luck.

* * *

In the late afternoon, after the team had finished processing the crime scene they went back to the FBI lab and waited for Nick to show up. The body had already gone to Doc Robbins, who is busy cutting up the necessary bits of the president who is now very dead …and naked.

"Hey guys, guess who's here?" announced Nick a tad unhappily. You would be too, if you were stuck with an unpleasant Russian dude who obviously doesn't work well in a team and who doesn't even want to converse with anyone and his breath doesn't even smell bad so he can't use that as an excuse, thought Nick maliciously. "This is Vladimir, everyone, and do please go introduce yourselves before you guys catch me up on the evidence." He sat down by the table in a huff.

There was an awkward silence.

"Oh, uh, I'm Catherine Willows."

"And I'm Sara. Sidle."

"And I'm Sanders, Greg Sanders. That, over there, is Gil Grissom but we call him Gris or Grissom and in the morgue you'll find Doctor Al Robbins who we like to call Doc," said Greg.

"'n me?" asked Warrick.

"Oh, yeah, that's Warrick Brown," finished Greg.

"Thank you," said the unsmiling Russian.

"Good. Well then, Nick and Vladimir, this is the evidence we found at the crime scene and it's not a lot: the president's shirt, a blood swab and Doc Robbins will have the necessary information from the body in a few moments so we can take a look at that evidence as well. Are you staying in our hotel as well?" Gris rattled off and ended his ranting with a look at Vladimir.

"Yes."

"Great, we'll be doing laser trajectory tomorrow at the crime scene so you can do that with me but for now you can go down to the morgue with…Warrick. The rest of us will get what we can from the little bit of evidence that we have."

Vladimir nodded and Warrick gestured for him to follow.

"Hey, Doc, what's up?"

"Warrick! I was beginning to think you guys have forgotten about me. Come for your evidence, have you?"

"Yeah, so _we_ have," said Warrick with a special emphasis on the word 'we'.

"Ah, who might we have here?"

"This is Vlad, our new intern," Warrick said, looking over to Vladimir and thinking just how well the Russian fits in with the grey, dingy, metal and sterilized morgue.

"Hi there," said Doc Robbins. Then turning to Warrick he said, "Well, here's all three bullets and their striations and the cause of death is the third bullet puncturing the left ventricle of the president's heart which caused severe blood loss that resulted in his death." "Poor guy", he added as an after thought.

"Right. Thanks a lot, Doc, we'll see you later."

"Oh, wait there a second," said Doc Robbins, pulling the cover further down the president's chest. "Take a look at this."

Warrick peered over Doc Robbins' shoulder and his eyes widened in surprise. "Holy Shit! Vlad! Look at this! D'you know what it is?"

Vladimir walked stiffly over to the operating table and scrutinized the president's chest. "It is a picture of a rose on his chest," remarked Vladimir in a tone that suggested he thought them to be stupid.

"Yeah, but do you know what it means?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I do not. Do you?"

"Aye, I do," said Warrick, putting on a triumphant Scottish accent for no reason. "'Tis the tattoo of an accomplished Mafia of the Russian order!"

As he said the last bit, he scanned Vladimir's face and was promptly rewarded as he saw Vladimir's expressionless mask slip for the first time into an expression of alarm and panic. When Vladimir looked up with his cold eyes to meet Warrick's, however, the mask was back on.

"So was our president part of the Russian Mafia?" asked Doc Robbins.


	2. Chapter 2

_**With Love form Russia**_

_**Chapter 2**_

That evening, at the dinner table in the prestigious dining room in the Hotel Sierra, the CSI team took a look at this nasty surprise of a problem. They were all pretty much puzzled at this dire situation.

"So is this a coincidence or what?" asked Greg blandly.

"You _believe _in coincidences?" said Sara disbelievingly.

"No, it would not be a coincidence," said Warrick, "either the president is part of the mafia or he tattooed an unearned rose on his chest on purpose just to piss them off and got himself killed in the process of doing so."

"That's not a good idea, though, so why would anyone do a thing like that?" questioned Nick.

"And how do you know that it was not a coincidence? Anyone could've gone into a tattoo shop and got a rose on his chest," challenged Greg.

"I know 'coz I studied criminal tattoos. That rose on his chest is unique-it can only belong to someone who is in or is associated with the Russian Mafia and only _accomplished _members have it."

"There is also a tiger in the middle of the rose, what would that be then?" asked Grissom.

"It's – hey, what! I know something you don't? Really, that's just – wow! I thought you knew everything!" Warrick half yelled.

"The answer would be appreciated, Warrick," said Grissom, cutting up his meat and giving Warrick the evil eye at the same time.

"Alright, alright. The tiger means that this person is, or was, an avenger of some sorts who and did all the revenge work."

"Thank you. And that does not look good for the president at all."

Everyone then took a moment to eat their food and digest this new information.

Then, suddenly, Doc Robbins piped up. "Oh, yeah, forgot to mention this earlier, but I ran some tests on the ink and it is not the usual tattooing ink that any commercial tattoo store in America would use so it was definitely not done 'round here."

"Well, what makes it so special?" inquired Catherine.

"It contains a mild poison that makes your nerves less responsive to pain so when and if you get into any melee fights, you are more likely to win because you won't be doubled up in pain."

Suddenly, Vladimir who hadn't spoke a word all evening, stood up and excused himself from the table.

"What's up with him? He's so……weird," commented Sara as he walked away from them, "he didn't even eat his food – I mean who doesn't eat food?"

The rest of the team nodded in agreement.

"I don't trust him," said Warrick.

* * *

In the elevator, Vladimir glared murderously at his phone before he flicked it open, dialed a number and hissed softly in Russian, "They know! They know about the rose and the tiger and EVERY FUCKING THING!" He abandoned his scary voice and shouted the last three words. "You told me they would know nothing about this, Yuri, but it seems you have UNDERESTIMATED them and therefore it means that you have failed _me_ yet _again_….give you another chance, my dear Yuri? Now tell me _why_ I should do that when you have failed me at least three times….hmmmm, you will do all the dirty work for me? Good, I will also blame everything that has gone wrong in this mission on your head so you can deal with the boss when he finds out. You just got yourself a deal, Yuri, goodbye," and he hung up without giving Yuri a chance to protest at the fairly unjust deal he just got himself.

Vladimir then dialed another number, cleared his throat and spoke in a more respectful tone of voice, "One of them knows too much about us and our ways, sir."

"Who?"

"Warrick Brown, sir, the black CSI."

"Dispose of him, Vladimir, do this with stealth and only after you have disposed of the evidence."

"Yes, sir."

He slid his phone shut and stalked into his room, slamming his door bad- temperedly after him.

* * *

The next sunny morning at approximately nine o'clock, Vladimir and Grissom arrived at the crime scene with a rather obscene dummy. Nah, just kidding, it was just faceless and soft. They got out the van and proceeded to the spot where the president was gunned down and died.

"Right, so he was standing here waving just before the assassin shot him down."

"Yes, of course," grumbled Vladimir sourly.

Grissom narrowed his eyes at him and thought irritably when he heard the tone of his voice: a dummy being carried by a dummy, what the hell.

"So you put the dummy here on the place where he was standing and stick these three lasers into the middle of the Xs on its chest. Make them go up at a 60o angle."

Vlad complied sullenly.

"Good, now let's get these lasers switched on and see where the assassin stood at the time of the murder."

Vlad switched them on and they both looked in the direction the laser was pointing them to.

"Just right across the road," said Grissom, looking up at the top level of the bank, "that's pretty close. Come on, let's go."

He picked up his tool kit and ran over to the bank entrance, yelling for Vladimir to leave the lasers on as he crossed the empty road.

Grissom opened the doors to the roof of the bank and walked out, blinking his eyes in the sunlight as Vladimir followed him outside and blinking his eyes in the sunlight as well. So they both walked out onto the roof, blinking their eyes in the sunlight in one moment of united-ness before that moment was destroyed by Grissom turning around and looking into Vladimir's sour face to talk to him.

"Right, the lasers say that that place over there," he said, gesturing to the place where the assassin had sat and waited only yesterday for the president to step out of the car in order to be a clear target to shoot at and he carried on saying: "which is where we will start looking for evidence to nab this assassin." And with that, he walked off to the indicated area.

Stupid man, thought Vladimir, the killer is right in front of your nose and you still cannot find him. But he followed Grissom anyway, just to see what he _would_ find.

Meanwhile, Grissom had been combing the area with his eyes and is now busy looking at some abnormal marks on a wall. He opened his tool kit, took out the mikrosil and mikrosilled the mark. Great, he thought happily, the first bit of evidence. Then an idea popped into his head.

"Hey, Vladimir, what did Doc say was the time of death?"

"Ten thirty."

"Splendid. I need you to go down to the security office and get me yesterday's security tapes from half past nine to eleven AM. Oh, and don't bother coming back up-I'm nearly finished up here."

Vladimir vanished behind the door and Grissom went over to stand where the killer stood. He put his hand on the wall and pulled himself up just to look over it (yes, it was that tall) and another thought occurred to him.

"The assassin must've put his hands here as well to look for the president," said Grissom, thinking aloud, "Maybe I can get a print off this."

And with that, he hoisted his kit up onto his bent knee and got hold of the print powder. Then he started to dust the whole top part of wall in powder until at last he got what he was looking for: _the_ fingerprint of _the _assassin.

Yeah! Go me, he thought gleefully and swept the scene with his eyes one last time before he went down to the van.

* * *

Back in the lab, Nick waited as he scanned the new fingerprint into the fingerprint database and waited again as the computer compared all the similar prints to the one fingerprint.

"Hey, how's the fingerprint going?" asked Warrick as he walked past Nick.

"There's nothing, absolutely nothing," said Nick forlornly. "I mean, I'm not surprised 'coz we really don't have many Russian Mafia people messing up our country - it's mainly Israelis and what not."

"Ah, well," said Warrick, patting Nick on the shoulder comfortingly, "at least we know the tool that made Gris's mikrosil mark.

"Yeah?" said Nick, perking up, "what is it?"

"It's an abseiling hook. That's probably how our perp got on and off the roof 'coz Cath and Sara can't find nothing on those security tapes Vlad got for us."

Then, sensing that someone was staring at the back of his head, Warrick looked around and Vladimir on the other side of the lab quickly looked away.

"I really _do not_ trust that guy," murmured Warrick to Nick, "looks as if he was eavesdropping on us and I mean eavesdropping as if he's into something shady."

Nick, who hadn't noticed anything wrong, looked around to take look at Vlad.

"Nah, you're probably just imagining it 'coz he's Russian," he said, disregarding the matter, "relax a little, Warrick."

"No, no, I've got a hunch. I'm gonna get his prints and run them with our perp's print."

"OK, do what ever you want, buddy. It's dinner soon; you can get it then, if you really want to."

* * *

Vladimir, who had heard the whole conversation, is now sitting on a toilet talking on his phone.

"Yuri, where are you now?"

"England."

"Good. I need you to come here immediately."

"Why?"

"I need your help. Get yourself a room at the Hotel Sierra and pay for it yourself, too."

"OK."

"I'd better see you tomorrow or I'll feed you to my pet crocodile."

He put his phone back into his pocket and flushed the unused loo before walking out of the bathroom. Then, on second thoughts, he opened his phone again and spoke to his boss in Russian.

"I cannot sabotage this investigation, sir; they have already processed all the evidence. The black CSI is still the only suspicious member of the team and I believe he is going to get my fingerprints at the dinner table today."

"Get the evidence and dispose of him as soon as possible."

"Right, sir, I'll do it."

And he slid his phone back into his pants pocket.

* * *

That evening, the disheartened team sat slumped at the dinner table, discussing their lack of evidence.

"There's so little to work on and the CIA wants us to solve this case quickly so we won't take up _all the resources,_" said a dismayed Sara.

"At least we have _some_ evidence; we'll just have to keep on trying. We know pretty much for sure that this was done by the Russian Mafia but we just have to _prove_ it," said Catherine, trying to be optimistic but not quite succeeding.

"Yeah, but we have such limited information on them that we can hardly prove anything," said Greg, who was feeling thoroughly dispirited.

"This means that this crime was done by a bunch of professionals who might be second guessing every step of our investigation. We're dealing with our equals on the other side of the law, boys, and we need to be careful," Grissom told the rest of his team.

"And girls," added Sara irrelevantly and belatedly.

"Right - and girls."

The stressing-ly depressed team gave a collective sigh and carried on eating their food – other than Warrick, that is. Instead of following the conversation, Warrick has indeed been watching Vladimir like a hawk watching its prey. He was watching his every move and noting to himself all the things that Vlad had touched. When at last everyone had finished their main course and the waiters came to pick their dirty plates up, Warrick stood up, excused himself, squeezed past Nick and followed the waiters into the kitchen.

The kitchen was terribly hot and airless but nevertheless, Warrick braved the heat and walked inside still following the waiter that carried Vladimir's cutlery.

"Excuse me," he hailed the waiter, "may I take a look at that cup please?"

"Yeah, OK, why?"

"I just need to get a fingerprint off it," replied Warrick.

And, my word, it was the wrong answer indeed.

"Omigosh, really? Are you a detective? That's just so awesome! I've always wanted to become a detective – hey, can I try doing that? Hey – wait!"

Warrick hurriedly took the fingerprint, smiled at the overenthusiastic youth and practically ran out of the kitchen to get away from the eager beaver. Once outside, he breathed a sigh of relief and made haste to the FBI lab one block away.

Arriving at the FBI building, he made his way up to the second floor and to the lab. He quickly scanned the print in and, holding his breath, he compared the assassin's prints to the Vladimir's prints. Little blocks appeared on the fingerprints before a flashing red sign came up reading: Match Found.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

As Warrick stepped out of the FBI building, a hooded man bumped him on the shoulder. Warrick frowned at the man, thinking that he recognized the blond-haired, blue-eyed face but continued walking back to the hotel without stopping.

_Man! Crap, they really need to know 'bout this_, thought Warrick as he hurried along, _I'll tell them when I get back. _

But that was the last thought he remembered having that evening as, half way to the hotel, he started to feel inexplicably tired and drowsy. His brained became sluggish and by the time he got to the hotel room, he was tripping over his own feet and could barely keep his eyes open. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision but when the action just made his head ache instead of clearing his vision, he gave up and slumped down onto his bed out cold.

* * *

The hooded man strolled into the FBI building and pulled back his hood. He flashed his identification at the security guards and they waved him through. He proceeded to the second floor lab. As the lift took him up, he took out a pair of gloves and pulled them on. Walking out, he went straight to the place where the evidence collected by the CSI team were being stored…and took them all out, one by one, and stuffed the evidence into a black plastic bag he produces out of his pocket. 

"What are you doing?"

The man jumped and turned around with his heart pounding. Then he looked at the cleaner with relief.

"I said: what are you doing?"

"I was just going to process the evidence."

"The CSI team left long ago; why are you still here?"

The man sighed. "Wrong question, my friend. You really shouldn't be so nosy."

He took his pistol out of his holster, took a silencer out of his pocket and screwed it onto the pistol as the cleaner watched, frozen with terror. He slowly raised the pistol to the cleaner's head.

"Goodbye, my friend."

And he silently shot the cleaner in the head. He lowered his gun and looked thoughtfully at the body as red blood drooled slowly out of the dead man's head with pieces of his shattered brain. Then he took the man's arms and, without leaving a trail of blood, pulled him to a room marked "Cleaning Supplies", opened it and stashed the body in there. He then undressed the body and stuffed the clothes into the plastic bag along with the evidence. He closed the door and pushed the cleaning trolley in front of it before he made his way out of the building and to the Hotel Sierra.

* * *

The next day was a complete nightmare. It started with a scream. A big, fat helluva loud scream from one of the female cleaners who had spotted the brown blotch of blood on the floor of the lab. It was this scream that brought Sara and Catherine running into the lab with their guns drawn and ready to fire but as you may have surmised, there was no need to shoot. 

Sara lowered her gun and crouched down on her haunches, peering down at the blood patch. "Oh my God, that's a lot of blood."

"And a little bit of exploded brain too," commented Catherine, looking at the pieces of brain on the floor.

Then another scream shattered the morning and this time, it brought the whole team, other than Grissom who was temporarily missing, running to it. They saw the same cleaning woman who was screaming earlier that morning at the door of the cleaning supplies room, pointing to something inside.

Nick stuck his head around the doorway, took a look and said: "Well, that solves your blood patch mystery." He turned around and shooed the cleaner away to get a cup of coffee to calm her nerves down while the others took a turn to look at the body that has been found lying on the floor.

"EW, where are his clothes?" said Sara, screwing her face up.

Then Grissom came in with a bleak look on his face. "Folks, the Division Head of the CIA, or whatever his title is, wants to see us for a personal update on our case." 

He looked over Sara's shoulders and his face tightened even more. "And this will have to wait until we're back from the interview."

"Hey, Gris, where's all our evidence gone?" demanded Nick from the other side of the lab.

Grissom looked at Nick disbelievingly for a second before he strode over to him to see what the problem was. 

"Oh, Christ! You're shitting me."

"What? You mean you didn't take it or anything? And since when have you started to swear? OK, OK," said Nick, backing down, "don't look at me like that." 

"Right. We're heading off to the CIA right now," commanded Grissom, still staring viciously at Nick.

"What about Warrick?"

"Just leave him a message and tell him to look for the evidence and Vlad, you can stay here to help him since you're just an intern."

Vlad nodded. Grissom strode out the lab and the rest of the team followed him.

* * *

Warrick woke up with something like a massive hangover but he didn't recall drinking any alcohol yesterday so it couldn't have been a hangover. Anyway, he was woken from his sleep with a horrible headache by the ringing of his mobile phone.

"Ugh," he grunted, rolled over and stuck out a hand to reach for his phone. He looked at the message and was instantly wide awake, though he still had a headache. _Crap, crap, crap, _he thought, _I've overslept and shite! I stillneed to tell them about Vladimir._ He picked up his phone to give Grissom a call but before he could do that, another message arrived from Nick, reading: So, yeah, we're entering the deadly meeting now and we've gotta switch our phones off 'coz they want us to. So just try to find the evidence, alright? We've left Vlad to help you. He should be at the lab. Seeya. 

_Damn it! Why did they have to leave me Vlad of all people? This is gonna be a bad day, _he prophesized silently.

Warrick hurriedly dressed, having to try to put his shirt on four times before he succeeded (yes, he was in a big hurry and haste never does the trick) and he darted off to the lab like a bunny would dart into its hole when it's being hunted.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the men's bathroom, Vladimir was talking to Yuri. No, he wasn't speaking over the phone as you might have thought; instead, he was talking to Yuri face to face.

"You did well, Yuri."

"Thank you."

"Now, put on that uniform and pretend to clean. He is bound to come inside some time or another to relieve himself – "

"You want me to stay in _here_ until he shows up? That means I might be in here for _hours_."

Vladimir scowled at Yuri. "Yes, that is what I just said. Do I even have to teach you to listen?"

"No," gulped Yuri.

"Good. I'll try to hurry him up for you. Now, when he comes out of the cubicle I want you to hit him with this," said Vladimir, handing a big, black club. "I want it to be done quickly and cleanly without a sound. Then you stuff him into the bin and wheel him down to our car. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now _get_ into that uniform."

* * *

"So, what happened?" asked Warrick as he strode into the lab.

"Evidence is gone and there is a new body," replied Vladimir.

"Well, then, let's get started."

* * *

_That was absolutely rubbish,_ thought Warrick angrily as he sat in the cafeteria chair, _I have just wasted an entire morning working with this assassin son of a bitch. Or rather he has wasted my time by asking me stupid questions for the whole, entire morning. And why does he look so pleased with himself? _He stared grumpily over at Vladimir. After a while, Vladimir started to feel uncomfortable and stared insolently back at Warrick.

"Are you gay, Mr. Brown?" he asked innocently.

"What the frickin' hell, dude!" yelled Warrick outraged. Everyone in the cafeteria fell silent and turned to look at him. 

"Then why are you staring at me like that?" carried on Vladimir.

Warrick glared at him, pushed back his chair furiously and walked rigidly to the bathroom. _I have a wife, you frickin'assassin son of a bitch._ He pushed open the bathroom door, greeted the cleaner acidly and went into a cubicle to relieve himself. He sighed. _When on earth are they gonna finish with the meeting? This thing about Vladimir is more important than some stupid meeting. _

Then he turned around, unlocked his cubicle door and was about to walk outwhen something big, hard and black hit him square in the forehead. The last thing he ever saw was a man with a face so similar to Vladimir's that they could've been twins swinging the blackjack into his face before the world became dark and he dropped down cold out onto the floor.

* * *

Yuri chucked the blackjack into the corner and hurriedly pulled the big, black man's body over to the dirt bin and managed to lift him headfirst into it after a little bit of a struggle. _Whoa! What does this guy eat? He's so – oomph! - heavy _was what Yuri was thinking when he did this nasty act. He replaced the lid of the bin and wheeled the trolley out of the bathroom. He nodded subtlety at Vladimir who got up and followed Yuri all the way down to their van.

* * *

Meanwhile in the CIA office, the CSI team sat and looked as though they had all been sentenced to life in jail.

"WHAT! What do you mean you have lost your evidence?" roared the lean CIA Head of Washington Division (whatever you want to call him) who didn't have a splotch of colour on him at all. In other words, everything about him was grey.

"With all due respect sir, it was stolen from us; we didn't lose it and you should be blaming the FBI for allowing someone to infiltrate their headquarters to steal our evidence _and_ get away with it," said Nick without any respect at all.

The CIA man ignored him and carried on bellowing: "How dare you call yourselves _professionals_ when you clearly are _amateurs_ at this crime-solving!"

"And what have YOU and YOUR PEOPLE done, huh? The answer is NOTHING at all, old man! So you can quit blaming other people for once and blame your own sorry asses. Who allowed the president to be assassinated in first place, huh?" an infuriated Nick shouted back. Then breathing hard, he stalked out of the office and slammed the loudly behind him.

There was a horribly awkward silence as the two opposing parties stared at each other.

"Get out."

"What?" said a surprised Grissom.

"I said: get out."

The CSIs glanced at each other with raised eyebrows and then stood up and went out the office and found Nick waiting for them.

"Why did you shout at him like that for?" said Catherine.

"Well, I got you out sooner, didn't I? That douche bag was pissing my ass off, in case you hadn't noticed," he said irritably. Then he said worriedly, "There's something wrong with Warrick. He isn't answering his phone and he can't still be asleep at this time of the day."

"I'm sure he's fine," said Greg and boy, how wrong he was.

* * *

"Hey, Warrick. Are you in here?" murmured Nick as he opened the hotel room door. He looked around and seeing that Warrick was not there, he went back out and down to the lobby. 

"He's not in there," he told the others.

"Greg and Grissom have gone to the lab to look for him. Maybe he's there," soothed Doc Robbins soothingly. 

Nick sat down on the sofa and put his chin in his hands, only to jump up again as Grissom and Greg came running through the hotel doors.

"Is he here?" demanded Grissom.

"No."

"He's gone missing," said a horrified Greg.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

"Right, OK – here's the plan," Grissom told the morose team that was sitting in the cafeteria, "Nick, Sara and I will search for Warrick and the rest of you will get what you can from the dead cleaner."

"Yeah, I'm almost certain that the killer and the kidnapper are the same people but we'll have to make sure with the evidence," muttered Nick to his coffee mug. He looked up at them with determined eyes, "Warrick took Vladimir's fingerprints a couple of nights ago 'coz he had some kind of hunch so I'm going to check it out now." And with that, he stood up and left the table.

The rest of the team looked at his retreating back piteously.

"OK, people, let's get to work."

* * *

Nick stood in front of the fingerprint computer searching for the assassin's prints when Grissom and Sara joined him. They stood behind him quietly while Nick found the print and clicked on the search button to find a match. Fingerprints flashed before their eyes, some of them having their owners' face attached in the top-right corner of the screen. Before long, a fingerprint stopped and little red blocks appeared on the fingerprint. Then, the result came up onto the screen in a flashing red block reading: Match found. Three pairs of eyes traveled simultaneously to the name at the top of the screen but only two gasps of surprise came.

"Vladimir! He was the _assassin_?"

"He was under our noses the whole time! They must have taken Warrick out because he knew of this."

"And we stupidly left Vladimir with Warrick to look for the evidence that he himself must have taken. Why would he want the president dead though?"

"The security guards should know about this, the night shift guys anyway since that's when we are not here and so he's more likely to steal the evidence at night. We know that the cleaner was killed on the same night so we should ask them if they let him in when we weren't here," finished Nick, who was already walking of in the general direction of the elevators. Sara and Grissom hurried after him.

* * *

In the supplies room, Catherine and Greg were examining the dead man on the floor. Greg, who wasn't cracking a joke or two for once, was looking carefully at the top half of the man while Catherine looked at his feet.

"There seems to be nothing here," whispered Greg. Then he did a double take and said, "There seems to be something here."

"Why are you whispering?" whispered Catherine as she went to see what Greg had found.

"Why are you? Anyway, it's a hair – it's stuck in the bullet wound," said Greg, returning to his normal voice. He took a pair of tweezers and delicately pulled the hair up for her to see.

"Excellent. We can get our perp's DNA from that."

"How do you know it's not the cleaner's?"

"The cleaner is _bald_, Greg."

"Ah, I knew that. Sorry, blonde moment."

"Right, I'm going to go to the morgue and ask Doc Robbins to bag this body and I want you to go to the lab to find out whose hair this is."

"Sure thing, Cath," said Greg. They gave each other a low five before they parted their ways.

* * *

Greg, having worked as a lab rat for many years, knew exactly what to do and how to do it fast. He got the DNA in less than five minutes and scanned it into the computer pronto. He waited for a few moments until the computer showed up a match result and boy, he got a nice surprise when he saw the man's face.

"Holy – is that Vlad?" said Greg. Then he took a look at the name sighed in relief. Indeed, it was not Vladimir's; it was Yuri Panin's.

"Ouch," said Greg to himself, "arrested for attempted murder – twice and he has a twin named…"

Greg quickly printed the screen and scooted hurriedly down to the morgue to find Catherine.

"…and the time of death was at 10 o'clock and he obviously died from the – what the hell?" squeaked Doc Robbins as the door to the morgue banged open and Greg stumbled in.

"Sorry, folks, but you have to see this," said Greg, waving his printout in front of their faces.

"Yes, we'd love to but you're gonna have to stop waving it," said Catherine, her head moving from side to side in time with the piece of paper trying to read it. 

"Thank you," she said as the paper stopped in mid-air. She read it, she grabbed it and then she ran out the morgue with Greg tailing behind her.

"Well, you died from a bullet entering your head, in case you ever want to know," said Doc Robbins to the cleaner's dead body.

* * *

"Hey, when are the night shift guys coming on?" Nick questioned the security man.

"They come at six o'clock. It's an hour till they come."

"Great, well, we just need to know if a tall, blonde – "

"Hey, Gris, we know who killed the cleaner. It's Yuri Panin and here's where it gets real juicy: Yuri Panin is Vladimir's twin brother," announced Greg as he and Catherine came to join the little group.

"Yeah, Doc Robbins said that the time of death was 10 o'clock last night so we're going to take a look at the security tapes from 9 o'clock from the entrance and the lab," said Catherine, asking the security guard to fetch the tapes with her eyes.

"Oh and I need to take a look at the tapes from the cameras on the lab and the lab cafeteria from this morning, from 8 o'clock to 11 o'clock," added Nick.

The security man nodded and went to find the tapes.

"Why would you want that?" asked Sara. "We know who killed the cleaner and the president and – oh – yeah, Warrick disappeared while we were in the meeting," she said, feeling guilty for having forgotten about Warrick.

Nick nodded. "We need to know where he was abducted so we can find out where to go next."

* * *

The whole team was sitting in front of a computer that was playing the tape from the night before. They looked on as a grey and white Yuri took a black bag from his pocket and shoved all the evidence in. Then they saw him jump as the cleaner came into the lab and they watched as he was shot. Then Yuri dragged the body out of the screen and came back a few seconds later holding an even bulkier black bag.

"There, he must have taken the clothes then," commented Catherine.

"Well, that case is solved so let's look at the other tape," hurried Nick.

Greg put the other tape in and they watched as Warrick strode into the lab and met Vladimir. Then they walked out the frame together and nothing else happened.

"Try the one from the lab cafeteria."

Greg put another tape in and they watched again. Vladimir and Warrick were sitting at the same table. A few minutes went past and then suddenly Warrick jumped up from the table with a very angry look on his face and made his way to the bathroom. Another couple of minutes passed before a cleaner came out of the bathroom pushing a trolley. Nick frowned.

"Pause it. Something's not right," he said, bending closer to the screen for a better look.

"Here, I'll enlarge it for you," said Greg, tapping on the keyboard. The cleaner became several times larger and grainier. Greg frowned and tapped on the keyboard again.

"There you go," he said as the image became clear.

They all bent in for a closer look.

"His clothes are too small for him," commented Sara.

"Pity, we can't see his face," murmured Grissom.

Nick stared at the trolley, looking it over inch by inch. He got to the lid of the big bin on the trolley and – 

"Oh my God, are those fingers? Enlarge the trolley bin, please Greg."

Greg made the image even larger.

"They are fingers!"

"Do you think they might be Warrick's?" asked Catherine, regarding the image on the computer screen. 

"Nick? Nick, where are you?" she said, turning around to look for him and finding that the rest of the team has gone. "Hey, where are you guys? Don't just abandon me," she grumbled and walked off to the men's bathroom.

* * *

Warrick woke up with an aching body at the back of a van. _Ugh, where am I? _He tried to lift his head but he decided not to after the movement brought about a stab of excruciating pain to his head. _OUCH!_ He sighed._ I should be holding the world record for most pains in the body, _he thought, n_ot only do I have a headache but I also have an eye ache, an ear ache, a nose ache and muscle pains all along my body._

He tried to move his arms but he couldn't. He looked down at his wrist. _Great, now I'm chained as well. _He lay at the back of the bumpy van and tried to remember what had happened.

* * *

The whole team was inside the men's bathroom, combing the entire place thoroughly.

"Look, here's a blackjack," said Sara.

"That was probably used to knock him out," observed Grissom, "take it to the lab and check it out for fingerprints and dried blood."

"OK, see you guys later." She ran off to the lab.

In the mean time, Nick had taken some luminol out of his kit and sprayed it at some brown splotches on the floor. After a second or two, it turned blue and he took out a swab and swabbed it.

"Hey Gris, I got some blood here."

"And I think that is all the evidence we're gonna get here. Let's go to the lab to check that stuff out."

* * *

In the back of the van, Warrick remembered. He remembered being hit by someone who looked a lot like Vladimir. _But he can't be Vladimir. I hadn't heard anyone come into the bathroom while I was in there and believe me that door creaks like hell when you open it. So it must've been the cleaner or someone posing as a cleaner. _Feeling a little better, he lifted his head to see who was driving and he recognized who was driving straight away. _Vladimir and…….another Vladimir? _Warrick frowned as he looked at the man besides the original Vladimir, puzzled. He flopped down back on his back to ponder on this problem.

* * *

Sara carefully peeled the fingerprint off the blackjack and held it up to the light. She then proceeded to spray the front of the blackjack with some luminol and swabbed the blood as the dried blood showed up. She walked towards Grissom and Nick who were standing in front of the DNA analysis machine.

"Here Gil, I got the blood sample and the fingerprint off the blackjack. You can keep the DNA while I check the fingerprint out." She handed Grissom the DNA sample.

"Thanks Sara."

Sara smiled at him and scanned the fingerprint into the fingerprint database and searched for matches. A few moments later, Yuri's face and name appeared attached to a fingerprint.

"What a surprise," murmured Sara, unsurprised. She walked back to Grissom and gave him the news.

"The fingerprint's Yuri's. He was the one who handled the blackjack and we can be sure of that 'coz his are the only prints that were on that club."

"And we can be sure that he was the one that got Warrick 'coz both the blood samples turn out to be Warrick's," replied Nick, "now we just need to know where they took the body."

"They?"

"Yeah, Vladimir's gone as well - most probably in league with his twin brother."

* * *

Warrick, who was still in the back of the van, was beginning to get sick and tired of being bumped around in the extremely hot environment. He was about to lift himself and ask the two Vladimirs to stop the truck and let him out when amazingly, as if it was stopped by his very thoughts, the truck slowed down and came to a stop.

_What a relief!_ He breathed a sigh of relief as his aching body was allowed to come to a full and actual rest.

Then, he heard the two Russians open their doors and jump outside. As they walked past his window, he lifted his head to get a better look at them and saw something completely unexpected. The first unexpected thing was that there _were _two Vladimirs. The second thing was that they were both walking around shirtless because they were not that accustomed to the summer heat in America yet. And, the third thing was that they both had roses tattooed on their chests; the one Vladimir even had a tiger in the middle of the rose as well. And that was when the puzzle pieces of this case began falling into place for Warrick. 


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

"So, where do you think they took the body?" asked Catherine.

The CSI team was having an impromptu meeting in one of the many corridors in the FBI building.

"Well, they would've taken him out the building somewhere and my guess is that they used the back entrance to take him into a car or a van or any vehicle really 'coz only the cleaners use that entrance," Nick responded, "so I'm gonna go check that entrance out now and if you have any other ideas of where he might have been taken please go check it out. We need to cover all the possibilities."

"Sure, I'll go check out surveillance tapes from all the entrances and tell you anything interesting I might find," volunteered Greg.

"I'll take a look at the side entrance of the building," offered Grissom.

"I'll come with you," said Sara.

They each went off to their designated areas.

"Well, I guess that just leaves you and me to check the back door out," observed Catherine, "let's go then."

* * *

In the back of the van, Warrick was busy having brainwave after brainwave.

_So, they are also of the Russian Mafia and it looks a though one of the Vladimirs is also an avenger, _contemplated Warrick, _that means I'm in hell of a lot of trouble to be stuck with these dangerous people. Anyway, the president, who was part of the Russian Mafia, was voted into the White House is assassinated by his former associates. They send two accomplished members, one of them an avenger to obviously avenge the 'family'. Now what did the president do that could possibly cause them to react so violently? Obviously they felt that they had been betrayed by the president who changes sides abruptly to become one of the 'good' guys but they had no reason to assassinate him because no one knew about his association with them and he sure was keeping quiet about it as well..._

And this was how he sought out the answer to this peculiar case, working his brain overtime as he pondered about the reasons behind the assassination.

* * *

Greg was once again downstairs in front of the security guard's desk.

"I need the tapes of all the entrances from 8 o'clock to 11o'clock, please."

The security guard stared despairingly at him. "I've just sorted the tapes you guys took the last time! This is the last lot of tapes that I'm going to take out for you guys 'coz it takes a lot of – "

"Dude, just get me the tapes, please," said Greg threateningly.

"Alright, alright, I'm getting them."

A few ticks went by before the security guard came out again carrying a bundle of tapes in his hand.

"Here you go. Bring them back soon," he grumbled at Greg.

"Thanks a lot, man," said Greg, rushing to the lab elevator.

Getting to the video analysis computer in the lab, he decided to inspect the back door entrance tapes first since that is the entrance the Russians would've most likely used. He sat on the chair and pushed the tape in. He fast forwarded the tape until he saw the relevant stuff. He gazed at the screen as a cleaner came into the frame, followed by a man he recognized as Vladimir. They stopped there for a couple of seconds and then they pushed the door open, revealing a big van-type car van parked just outside the entrance. He watched as they pulled Warrick's body out of the trolley bin and stuffed him into the back of the car. Then they got into the front of the vehicle and sped away.

_Great, I'll get Sara and Grissom and take them to the back entrance, _he said to himself and he rushed off.

* * *

Nick and Catherine had found the cleaner's trolley in the corridor and were now busy looking for any evidence on the trolley.

"Here are the fingerprints from the trolley handle," announced Catherine, holding up the fingerprint. "You got anything in there?"

"Yeah, I might have," said Nick in a muffled voice. He pulled his head out from the empty bin. "I've got a hair. It's Warrick's, I think."

"Great, I'll just – "

Catherine was interrupted by Greg, Sara and Grissom arriving on the scene.

"Greg just confirmed that this is _the_ entrance," announced Grissom on his arrival.

"You guys need any help?" asked Sara.

"Absolutely, we need Greg to analyze some evidence for us and you guys can help us process the crime scene outside," answered Nick.

"You just choose me 'coz I was a lab rat," said Greg, pretending to look hurt.

"Yeah, well, you'll be able to do the things faster. Just go, will you Greg?"

"Okeydokey." He grinned and he jogged back up to the lab.

The remaining people opened the doors and stepped outside.

"Wow. I see tire tracks already. They must've been in quite a rush," remarked Sara. She walked over to the tracks and quickly took a cast of it while the others searched for other evidence.

Grissom stepped over the tire tracks and knelt down by a pile of cloth. He pulled on his latex gloves and picked it up only to find that it's a discarded cleaner uniform.

"Well, now we know that Yuri isn't walking around in a cleaner uniform," he said to know one in particular. "What have you got there, Nick?"

"Car paint – they were driving a black car. Seems that they scraped the car in their hurry to get away," answered Nick, straightening up from the corner of the building with a tweezers-full of black car paint.

"Excellent, we can ID the car with these and ask the FBI to send some teams out to search for it. Come on; let's get back to the lab."

Greg looked up as the team came into the lab. "Fantastic. You guys are here. This is what I got from the evidence: the fingerprints are Yuri's and the hair's Warrick's."

"Cool, well we just need to check these tire prints out before we can get some agents to find the car for us," said Nick.

"Hey guys, I've got the car type," declared Sara, who had been scanning the tracks into the computer for a match, "it's a SUV – last year's model."

* * *

"I need to see the head of this building, please," requested Grissom of the secretary politely. He was on the top level of the building.

"He's not available right now," answered the hag-like secretary.

"It's in connection with the president's assassination."

Now _that_ got her attention.

"OK then, I'll tell him you're coming," she sighed irritably.

Grissom waited impatiently.

"Right – go through."

He walked to the door, pulled it open and launched straight into his speech.

"We need some teams to find a black SUV of last year's model that is being driven by two blonde men – one of which murdered the president."

The small man behind the big oak desk carried on writing his letter. Grissom stared at the man, waiting for a reaction. When he didn't get one, he started his speech again.

"I said: we need some teams to – "

"I heard what you said," interrupted the small man in a gravelly voice that didn't match him at all.

"Then what are you waiting for? Send them out – it's an urgent matter."

"Mr. Grissom, I will see to it as soon as I finish this letter."

_Talk about priorities,_ thought Grissom. _This guy sure needs a lesson._

The man finally finished his letter put the lid back on his pen. He looked up at Grissom.

"You were saying?"

"We need to find a black SUV of last year's model that is being driven by two blonde Russian twins. One of them assassinated the president and we need your help to find them," repeated Grissom slowly.

The midget's eyes widened in alarm. "Why didn't you say that earlier?"

"I did, you just weren't listening," replied Grissom but the little man was already on the intercom giving everyone in the building a description of the car and telling them to start looking for it.

"Thank you," said Grissom, "I'll be waiting with the rest of the team in the lab and I want to know where they are as soon as possible."

The little man waved him out of the office, still talking into the intercom and Grissom went back down to the lab.

* * *

A nail-biting hour went by (it was actually only half an hour but it felt like an hour to them). The team sat in the cafeteria chairs, fidgeting and not saying anything.

At last, an agent rushed into the cafeteria, panting for breath. "They have been found. We are still following them. I was sent here to take you there."

At once, the entire team jumped up and sped down to the car park where they stood looking lost for a moment before the agent sped in after them and directed them to his black shiny car. They piled into the car and they drove off.

* * *

Warrick lay there, looking out through the window at the night sky that was so different of that of Vegas.

_I can actually see stars,_ he thought wondrously and then that train of thought was disturbed as the van suddenly stopped and he skidded forward only to knock his head painfully against the wall of the van. He gave a painful grunt and gave his head a shake. Then he heard the car doors slam and felt someone undo the chains on his hands and feet from the windows. Suddenly he was dragged out of the van and deposited onto a hard concrete floor.

"OUCH! Watch the head, man! It's tender right now, you know?" said Warrick groggily from the floor of the road. He sat up slowly and gazed up at his abductors who were now fully dressed again. "Which one's Vlad?"

One of the blonde men answered, pointing at the other blonde guy, "He is."

"Shut up, Yuri. I do all the talking and you do all the dirty work so you get to tie up this piece of scum. Now!" commanded Vladimir.

Yuri walked over to Warrick, taking a long piece of rope out of the van as he went by and roughly pulled Warrick's arms up behind his back and tied them tightly.

Warrick struggled, trying to shake Yuri off from his awkward position. When that failed, he began to talking to them. He looked up at Vladimir. "So you guys are twins, huh?" he asked, panting and glaring up at Vladimir.

"Well noticed, my friend. Though we are not very brotherly towards each other, we are still brothers. My, you CSIs are amazingly slow when it comes to solving crimes, so why in anyone's right mind would they choose you people to solve such an important crime like the assassination of your president?" asked Vladimir softly and silkily.

"Yeah you're right," answered Warrick, whose feet were busy being tied up," we do suck. But let me tell you your own sob story and tell me if I'm close to home. Your dear friend the president who has been part of your mafia for many years suddenly decides to leave you bitches to become the president and be one of the 'good' guys. Oh, the family felt angered and betrayed by him but you all agree not to kill him yet in case he changes sides again, kinda like a turn-coat. But he didn't come back to the family, even after all these years, and suddenly you learn that he was going to add salt to the tender wound, much like what you're doing to my head now, only figuratively, by planning to reveal all your nasty little secrets to the world, threatening to bring your whole world crashing down around your ears so that POOF, there will be no more Russian Mafia."

Warrick finished off with an insolent smile on his face which was then wiped off when Vladimir swung his hard knuckles down to make contact with his face. His face gave a sickening crack and his nose started to bleed again.

"My NOSE!" yelled Warrick in pain, "that was my NOSE, you moron!"

"I know it is your nose – that's why I punched it,"growled Vladimir, grabbing onto Warrick's shirt collar and giving him a shake, "how the hell do you know all that?"

"I knew you killed the president and I knew _he_ was part of the Russian Mafia and then you two went walking around half naked which was not a very clever thing to do when you both have roses on your chests and that's when I started to work out what had happened. So I'm right?"

Vladimir dropped him back down and kicked in the stomach. "You're close, very, very close. But you won't be alive to tell them the story and they won't be able to find out what you found out because Yuri has indeed taken all your evidence. Take him to the water," he ordered.

"Ah, but I scanned your prints into the computer before you guys got to me," Warrick reminded them, "They'll get you sooner or later."

Vladimir ignored him and Yuri took him by the feet and hauled him across the road. He wriggled around like a worm, trying to get free and then he gave up and went limp, being too weak and sore to fight. Suddenly, he felt himself sink down a few inches and realized that he was now being dragged across sand.

_Oh, man, this is bad, really bad. We're by the sea._

A meter away from the waves, they stopped dragging him and forced him onto his knees. Warrick looked up and found himself facing Vladimir again. A Vladimir with a silenced gun in one hand.

_Oh shit. Goodbye Tina; hello Mama._

"I'm going to let you die a very slow and painful death, Mr. Brown, very slow and _painful. _Literally adding salt to your wounds, as you would say."

He raised the gun to aim at his stomach and cocked the gun.

Suddenly, just as Vladimir was about to shoot him, they heard the loud whirring of a helicopter and they looked up, then they looked back down again as a dozen or so cars skidded off the road and onto the sand, sending piles of sand flying off around the tires, making new little sand dunes. They were surrounded.

Vladimir snarled with animosity and scowled at Warrick. He spat at him and then shot him the stomach before anyone could stop him. Warrick keeled over onto his back with a groan.

"Quick Yuri, get him into the water!" he bellowed in Russian over the whir of the helicopter.

Yuri picked a limp Warrick up, staggered a few steps into the water and flung Warrick's body into the salty waves. The brothers watched in satisfaction as Warrick Brown's body was washed out into the ocean. Then -

BAM! BAM!

Vladimir cried out in pain as his knees buckled under him and he fell.

BAM!

Yuri stumbled backwards and fell into the water, flailing his arms.

In a few seconds both Russian men were arrested and stuffed into one of the FBI vehicles.

* * *

Nick watched in horror as Warrick's body was thrown into the ocean and carried away. Then his brain clicked and he jumped into action. He raced across the sand dunes to the helicopter which had landed and hopped in without any invitation. The men in the compartment hastily shifted over to make space for him.

"You guy's got a Medi-kit with you?" shouted Nick.

"Yes sir, we do," the pilot shouted back.

"Then find the body for me!"

The pilot complied and he took off. He flew slowly over the sea, sweeping a big spotlight that was attached to the helicopter across the dark blue water, searching for Warrick's body. Nick looked out anxiously, straining every fiber of his eyes to look for his best buddy.

"There! I see him!" yelled one of the men.

Nick lurched over to the other window. "Where?!"

The man pointed it out to him.

"Stop the flight! Get the harness ready! I'm going down to fetch him!"

There was a flurry of movement as everyone in the helicopter started to assemble the harness. In a couple of seconds, it was ready and Nick climbed into it. The men slowly lowered him down to the water. As soon as he was close enough, Nick grabbed onto Warrick's shirt to prevent him from floating further away and heaved him up into the harness. He shifted his friend into a safer position. He looked up at the man controlling the harness and gave him the thumbs up. He scrutinized Warrick.

"Hey buddy, you alive?"

"'course I am, Nick," grunted Warrick weakly. "Ouch! Watch that hand!"

Nick looked down at Warrick's left hand which was stuffed into his bullet wound.

"Why did you stuff your hand in there? It might cause an infection you know?"

"Yeah, but it stopped the bleeding. Didn't want to be eaten by sharks, did I?"

"How did you get your hands loose anyway? I though they were tied up."

They were hoisted up onto the helicopter as they reached the right height. Warrick gave a grunt.

"Flexed my muscles when Yuri was tying me up so when I relaxed me muscles there was enough space for me to wriggle my arms out. It's the oldest trick in the world, buddy."

"I'm just glad you're alive, man," grinned Nick, giving Warrick a punch on the shoulder. "Take him to the hospital, will you?" he asked the pilot. The helicopter made a u-turn to go back inland.

"By the way Nick, I found out why they assassinated the president…."

* * *

Two days later, the two Russian men were sentenced to death and the CSIs stood at the airport, waiting for their flight home.

"Passengers of flight AV749 may now board," announced a woman's voice over the speakers.

"Come on guys, that our flight," said Grissom, breaking the relaxed chatter of the other CSIs.

They all stood up and made their way to the boarding entrance, still chattering happily away. They moved up into the plane and sat down in their seats.

"This is great! I can't wait to get back to Vegas…..home!" said Warrick, who had a thick band of bandages wrapped around his stomach, excitedly.

"Washington not the place for you, eh?" asked Nick rhetorically.

"Nope. Vegas is way better with all its lights and casinos and……."

And that was the general banter until half an hour later, the plane took off into the setting sun for Las Vegas.


End file.
